


Warmth Is A Place In Cornwall

by under_my_blue_umbrella



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_my_blue_umbrella/pseuds/under_my_blue_umbrella
Summary: It’s Christmas, and Cormoran and his little sister are once more dropped at their aunt’s and uncle’s during one of Leda’s crises.Ficlet written for the Strike Boxing Day Fic Fest 2019.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 27
Collections: Cormoran Strike Boxing Day Ficlet Fest





	Warmth Is A Place In Cornwall

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [StrikeBoxingDayFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/StrikeBoxingDayFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Hot cocoa

Hearing the doorbell chime softly inside, Cormoran shuffled his feet on the doormat that had “Welcome home” printed on it in large, inviting swirls. He was cold, shivering in earnest now after the long ride, the Volvo’s ailing heater barely managing to keep the temperature above freezing point inside the car. He was cold and tired, and he felt Lucy list against him, half-asleep, looking for warmth. 

_Please open the door._

Leda rang the doorbell a second time, sniffling. 

“Come on,” he heard his mother whisper, her voice still thick with tears and hoarse from shouting. Her make-up was smeared, her hair had come undone, and she had to be freezing. When she'd pushed Cormoran and Lucy out the door of their current squat, screaming at Kyle over her shoulder, she’d grabbed their winter coats but failed to bring her own, and the glittery mini skirt and thin blouse she was wearing can’t have kept her warm.

_Come on._

The porch light flared, bathing them in a bright pool torn from the darkness. The door swang open, and Uncle Ted was there, his large hands immediately pulling Cormoran and Lucy inside.

“Come in, come in, quickly! My God, you look frozen!”

They were ushered through the hallway, into the kitchen, Lucy’s small hand not letting go of Cormoran’s. Warmth washed over them, the smell of roast beef, and Aunt Joan, dressed in a terry cloth bathrobe, pulled them both against her chest. For a moment, Cormoran closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of lavender soap, his nose buried in her robe. 

“Goodness, Cormoran, how tall you are!” 

Her hand brushed over his head and tucked it under her chin, brushing gently. 

“And you too, little Miss Lucy! What a beauty you’re becoming. It’s like I haven’t seen you in years, and it’s only been a few months!”

She prattled on, still holding them, and Cormoran was grateful. He didn’t exactly know what Leda was doing - he could hear her muted voice from another room, mixing with Uncle Ted’s - and he didn’t _want_ to know. During the drive, fighting sleep, he’d kept an eye on his mum. She’d been so upset, driving too fast, and he’d smelled alcohol on her. He’d asked her to drive slower, told her that everything would be alright, and he’d kept track of the gas stations they’d passed in case the car broke down and they would have to walk and fetch help. 

Lucy, her one-eyed teddy bear clutched to her chest, had stayed curled up against him in the back seat, asleep or pretending. It was what she did when things went rough: disappear; play dead. It made sense, he guessed: things only hurt when you were alive to feel them.

“You’re both cold as icicles.” 

Arms still around both their shoulders, Aunt Joan steered them back into the hallway and up the stairs, the handrail wreathed in Christmas lights.

“To bed, both of you. Right now.“

Lucy clung to her, mute, her big eyes flicking to the door of the living room where they could now hear their mother crying. Cormoran wanted to cover his ears, but instead he gnashed his teeth and stared straight ahead. 

He was relieved when they arrived in the bedroom which, magically, always seemed to be ready for them. Both beds were freshly made, fairy lights twinkling above Lucy‘s, a galaxy mobile from last year‘s science project stirring above his. Cormoran‘s favourite book - “A Dog So Small” - sat on his nightstand, and an assortment of stuffed animals was assembled around Lucy’s pillow. 

_Home._

The thought came unbidden, as a relief, followed by a pang of guilt.

“Undress, put your pj’s on and under the covers.”

Aunt Joan nodded at Cormoran while helping Lucy with her buttons, and he was a little proud that he could manage on his own, even with his fingers frozen stiff.

“Don’t we have to brush our teeth?” Muffled by the shirt being pulled over her head, Lucy sounded smaller than she was. 

“Later, sweetheart.” Discarding her shirt on the floor, Aunt Joan smiled. The wrinkles in her kind face looked deep tonight. “I want you warmed up first. Quickly now!”

A few zippers and buttons and a growing clothes pile on the floor later, and they were both in their pajamas (Cormoran’s getting a bit short and tight, but the flannel blissfully soft). As he slipped into his bed and Aunt Joan pulled the duvet up to his chin, his feet found a hot water bottle, and Lucy’s pleased little sound told her she had one too. 

“Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.”

Aunt Joan left, the bedroom door remaining open a crack. Footsteps on the stairs. The sounds of an argument drifted upstairs when the living-room door opened and closed again. Leda’s voice, desperate and interrupted by sobs. Uncle Ted’s deep, restrained murmur. 

“Stick? Do you think we’ll stay here?”

Lucy was a shadow among her zoo of horses, bunnies and unicorns.

Pins and needles coursing through his thawing feet, Cormoran tried to sink deeper into his mattress. 

“For a while. Yes.”

“Do you think we can stay until Christmas?” 

“I don’t know.” It was December. Christmas, if Cormoran calculated correctly, was only three weeks away. And Kyle had told their mum not to come back _until she had her shit together._ That usually took a while. “I think so. Maybe.”

Lucy sighed, a sound too deep and too old to come from his little sister. “I hope so.”

_I hope so too._

Again, that stab of guilt. Downstairs, Leda’s voice rose. A door banged, and for a moment Cormoran was torn between shock and relief that she may have left to race back to London, to Kyle, without them. But it was the back door, and when he sat up to look out the window he saw his mother pacing the garden, the glow of her lit cigarette bobbing between the beanstalks and tomato plants like a firefly in the entirely wrong season. Smoke curled up from her nervously pacing, shadowy figure. Smoke and the dragon breath of winter. Still without a coat, she had to be catching her death. 

“Did she leave?” Lucy’s voice quivered, betraying the same mix of emotions sloshing sickly in his own chest.

“No,” Cormoran said. “No, she’s still here. She’s just in the garden.”

Cormoran watched her, worried and hating that he was worried. He couldn't seem to turn his eyes away from his beautiful, sad mother, who was fierce and loving and strong until… until something broke - usually her heart, but there had to be something else involved - and things fell apart.  
He saw her stub out her cigarette and move out of view, back into the house. Muffled voices in the living-room. Then, the high-heeled, tip-tap tread of his mother on the stairs, and the bedroom door creaked softly open.

“Hey,” she said, a sad smile in her voice. “Are you two still awake?”

Lucy had turned her face back to the wall, eyes closed. Playing dead again. But Cormoran sat up, heart beating nervously in his chest.

“I’m awake,” he said quickly.

With a long, rueful glance at his sister, Leda stepped between the beds. She ran a hand over Lucy’s long hair fanning out over the pillow - a featherlight touch, careful not to wake her (although she wasn't actually sleeping, and they both knew it). Then she sat down on the side of Cormoran’s bed. As she did so, her hand cupped Cormoran’s cheek, the tips of her artificial nails brushing familiarly against his skin. One of them, he felt, was missing. Her face was a mess of dried tears and smeared make-up. Her eyes - green like Cormoran’s - seemed to glitter in the semi-darkness of the room. 

“My sweet boy,” Leda whispered, brushing a curl behind his ear. His hair was too long. A nuisance, and the boys at school were back to calling him “pubehead”.

“Are you warm enough?” She tucked the duvet around him which has slipped to his waist.

“Aunt Joan made us hot water bottles.” 

“That’s good.” Leda smiled, but it was the kind of smile that covers something that hurts. For a long minute, she nestled at his blanket, at the collar of his pajamas, her fingertips full of love and nerves. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable.

“Darling,” she said finally. “You know how much I love you and your sister?”

Cormoran nodded. He did. 

His mother glanced at Lucy again, then looked back at him. “And because I do,” she continued, a crack appearing in her voice, “I need the two of you to stay with Uncle Ted and Aunt Joan for a while.”

This was what he'd expected, and still, Cormoran’s heart sank a little. “You’re not staying with us?”

Leda shook her head. “I have to go back to London. Try to fix things with Kyle. Find us a new place to stay if I can’t. And I don’t want you to be in the middle of it. You…” She hesitated, swallowing. “You’ve been through enough already. You and Lucy. And you need to go to school. You need something that’s not…” She didn't finish the sentence. Her palms went to her temples, squeezing, as she shook her head. 

_Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry._

But when she looked Cormoran in the eye again, there were no tears. Sorrow so deep it made his heart clench. But no tears. Perhaps she was all cried out? Did that happen? Did people cry so hard there were no more tears left?

“I’m sorry, darling.” Her voice was a brittle whisper, and her arms closed around Cormoran and pulled him to her chest. Her breath felt warm against his ear. “I am so, so sorry.”

For a moment, he made himself stiff in her embrace. Let the anger flood him. The disappointment. For a moment, he wanted to shout at her and tell her to go away and never come back. But the feeling passed, and he softened against his mother’s body. Her curls tickled his skin, her breasts pressed against him, and her fake pearl necklace was a cool, hard stripe against the side of his neck. Cormoran closds his eyes and breathed her in - perfume, cigarette smoke, alcohol and something bitter-sweet that he’d only ever smelled on her. He catalogued and memorized that smell for the weeks - months? - to come, afraid of forgetting it.

“When will you come back?” He mumbled the question into her shoulder.

“As soon as I can,” she said into his hair, kissing the side of his head. “But it may take a while. I need to get things sorted first.”

She released her hold on him, sitting back, her hands still on his forearms. 

“I need you to watch out for your little sister. Can you do that for me, darling?”

Solemnly, he nodded. Of course he would watch out for Lucy. She was silly and tiresome, and sometimes he wished he wasn’t her big brother; __he wanted to have a big brother who looked out for _him_ and who was strong and took care of things. But of course he would watch out for Lucy. It was his job.

“Good boy. My sweet, sweet boy.” There was that sad smile on his mum’s face again, and Cormoran wasn't sure he could look at it anymore. 

“I’ll be back soon. I love you.”

Leda pressed a quick kiss to his lips, sticky red, and then, hastily, as if she, too, couldn't bear this any longer, she brushed her hand over Lucy’s still form and left. 

It didn't take long until Cormoran, still sitting in his bed, ears pricked, heart thumping, heard the front door and then the laborious engine of their Volvo cough to life. Tires on the gravel. Gone.

Across from him, Lucy still wasn't moving. Her deep, slow breaths signalled that she had truly fallen asleep. 

Cormoran pressed both fists against his eyes until it hurt and until he saw white sparks in the darkness beneath his eyelids. It helped against the hollowness in his belly and against the cold ball in his chest that seemed to burn and make him feel numb at the same time.

The door creaked again, making him startle.

“Sshhht. It’s only me, sweetheart.” 

His aunt entered the room, still in her bathrobe, carrying two mugs. The blue one with the black marlin on it was Cormoran’s. Uncle Ted got it for him after their last fishing trip.

Gently, Aunt Joan set one mug on Lucy’s nightstand. Then she sat down on the side of Cormoran’s bed and handed him the other mug. It was warm, the hot cocoa it held in the exact shade of dark brown that Cormoran preferred. The smell wafting from it was bittersweet and comforting, and the warmth of the ceramic bled into his still-cold fingers like a balm.

“Drink, sweetheart,” his aunt coaxed him. “It’ll warm you up inside.”

Cormoran took a sip, and it tasted like memories and safety. Then he bit his lip and said: “Mom went back to London.”

Aunt Joan nodded, and Cormoran saw the light catch in her greying hair. 

“She did. But she’ll come back when things are settled with Kyle.”

“I know.” It came out more dejectedly than Cormoran intended.

He took another sip.

“You know we love having you and your sister here, Cormoran,” Aunt Joan said, and her hand settled reassuringly on his thigh, slowly warming under the duvet. “You are always welcome here, there will always be a place for you in our home, and you can stay here for as long as you want.” 

The stress on the _you_ was not lost on Cormoran, and as during previous, unplanned stays in Cornwall, he caught himself wishing he and Lucy could simply stay here, with his aunt and uncle, in this predictable, steady place where everything was a little more boring but also much easier. And, like always, he was shocked at the thought, ashamed of himself. His mother may not be like most mothers, but she loved him. She loved him so much, and it wasn't her fault that things always turned against her. 

Leda had been left by so many people. Cormoran wasn't going to be one of them.

“Cormoran?” A gentle brush over his head brought him back. Surreptitiously rearranging Cormoran’s mess of curls, Aunt Joan looked at him with worry. “Are you alright?”

Quickly, he nodded. Then he yawned, although he was sure he wouldn't be able to fall asleep for a long time. There were too many thoughts in his head that needed sorting and stowing away.

“I’m tired,” he added, blinking. He gulped the rest of the cocoa down.

“And it’s no wonder!” Aunt Joan took the empty mug from him. “It’s the middle of the night, and you, young man, need to sleep.”

She got up.

“Don’t I have to brush my teeth?” Cormoran frowned at her.

“You get special service tonight.” Aunt Joan smiled mischievously at him. Then she disappeared into the adjacent small bathroom and returned with his toothbrush, a glass of water and a towel. “Only tonight,” she emphasized and let him brush his teeth in bed and spit the toothpaste into the towel.

Tenderly, she tucked him in, gave him a kiss on his forehead and, with a last look at Lucy’s sleeping form, turned off the bedside lamp and the fairy lights and walked out.

“Aunt Joan?” Cormoran softly called after her before she could pull the door to, and she turned around, eyebrows raised in question.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Did mom take a coat? It’s cold in the car. The heater’s broken.”

In the darkness of the room, illuminated only by a night light in the hallway, Cormoran couldn't properly see the expression on his aunt’s face, but he heard her exhale deeply, as if he’d said something upsetting. Her voice, though, sounded kind and warm when she answered.

“I gave her a coat, and she has a blanket and warm boots. And a thermos with tea.”

It was Cormoran’s turn to exhale now, but with relief. “That’s good.”

“Goodnight, Cormoran.” 

“Goodnight, Aunt Joan.”

And then he was indeed alone, with his thoughts and warm cocoa in his belly and with a bad conscience but glad that his mother would not freeze to death on her way back to London.

**Author's Note:**

> Normally, I'm a stickler for canon, and I try to be accurate. This time, I had no time whatsoever to do any research. Not on the age difference between Cormoran and his sister, not on the succession of Leda's boyfriends. "Kyle" is just a random name. 
> 
> I could've asked around on tumblr, but our fics were supposed to remain anonymous and a surprise, and I didn't want to spoil that.
> 
> Sorry if I got things wrong. But the important thing for me was that Cormoran had to be a protector both for his little sister and for his mum.
> 
> Also, sorry if you were expecting something fluffy and heartwarming for this prompt. The image of a young and sad Cormoran sitting in bed with a mug of hot cocoa flew at me, and I went with it.


End file.
